Blood of my Blood
by NineStoicCrayolas
Summary: Sakura is from the Konoha Underground. She doesn't quite understand how the rest of it all works. Or: Sakura grows up a child of a different war.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I do not own Naruto.

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Sakura clenches her dirty clothes in her skinny hands as she tilts her head towards the restaurant. The smell of cooked meat and Konoha spices are making her stomach rumble. She regards the food-place with barely veiled interest and remembers to check left, right, up and down before crossing the street.

She does not want to be caught by the Uchiha. Miyuka had been taken in last week, thrashing and screaming against the shinobi with the devil-eyes. Back at the Hole, Tatsuro had sworn up and down that they were selling them off to the Hokage for messengers in the ANBU.

Satisfied that she has not seen any glaring black or red eyes, she moves silently, keeping up a languid pace that fooled most grown shinobi. Just slow enough that it looks like she has no interest in the restaurant across her, she zig zags to and fro so that it makes her look like she's wandering for her mother.

(She closes her eyes against the onset of memories—soft hands, a glittery sheen of lips and eyes and the embroidered yukata of a whore.)

Sakura reaches the other side of the street and she bends down to coo at a puppy tied up at the door of her target building. It yips at her and licks her hand, its brown fur soft and fluffy under her grubby fingers. She uses the excuse to peek into the restaurant, subtly loosening the leash the dog is stuck on.

It will be her distraction when she is escaping back towards the Hole.

The restaurant is packed and Sakura resists the urge to smile at the complete lack of security. While she knew that the Akimichi clan was shinobi, she also knew that they adored their food. She also knew that stealing food off an Akimichi would guarantee you a severe beating and deliverance to the Uchiha squads. Which meant she had a small window of time to slip into the most prestigious kitchens of Konoha and pass off as a scullery girl.

Emika has done it before her and succeeded.

Sakura straightens up and dons a mask of worry, so that it will look like she is late and scurries off into the recesses of the kitchen. She can feel someone's eyes on her but when she risks a glance it's an old lady that smiles at her obvious worry. She ignores her and keeps her hair under the hood that Kanzu procured for her just hours ago.

The kitchen is loud and full of movement which is the perfect because Sakura excels at blending in. She keeps her energy levels (she's heard some of the older kids in the Hole talk about it when they cursed out the shinobi of the village) steady and closes her eyes for a moment while she expands her them to those of the Akimichi children. (They are slightly larger than normal but they _are_ clan kids and Sakura knows that comes with some advantages). It wavers for a minute and she sees one of the largest Akimichi shift and frown. She curses herself and spends half a second more solidifying them.

The Largest shrugs and then spots a portion of apple pie that he dives for. Sakura breathes out softly. She is safe for now.

Her feet are nimble and light as she sidesteps legs, arms, feet and hands. She makes sure no one looks twice at a tiny bundle of light brown robes, a skinny frame and bright green eyes.

She finds her target at the back of the kitchen, right on the edge on the counter. It's a huge, juicy, packed looking chicken breast and Sakura salivates at the sight. She moves before anyone can take it and then hides it under her robes where she slips it into a sealing scroll Kanzu stole last week. She keeps moving deftly, her hands sneaking out to clip a couple of apples, two fresh buns of bread, some milk (Sakura hasn't even seen milk since she was three and the old Lady of the Okiya was alive.)

Sakura breathes out slowly and then slips back out. She dawdles at the bar and slips in two boxes of juice (she can hardly keep in her excitement at that) beneath her cloak.

Then she's moving again, pretending she has a message (she keeps a crumpled envelope under her clothes for these types of situations) to deliver. She's out the door in five minutes and when someone shouts for the food and realizes that one of the Hole has been there, she calmly hurries out of the establishment.

The brown puppy is yipping at her heels when she exits and as she leans forward to pet it, keeping the door open with her hip; her fingers slip the leash off its collar. The puppy moves with glee, barreling past her and into the restaurant and Sakura turns a sharp left into the alley opposite from which she comes.

She moves quickly into the shadows, molding her energy levels until they are similar to the rat that has scuttled past her into the gutter. When Sakura is far away enough she runs back to the Hole.

She passes Konoha's underworld; Lemon Man (she calls him this because his hands smell like fresh lemons when she and Kanzu head over to haggle the price of basic medicine and shinobi-wear) gives her a smirk when she flinches away from his cold reaching hands and the Wood Woman (Miyuka and Sakura dubbed her with the nickname when they got too close to the woman's stack of newspaper and she held them down while she hit them over and over with Bamboo shoots for daring to steal from her shop) shouts after her, throwing beer bottles at 'children who thieve, pilfer and lie'.

When Sakura reaches the Hole, a run-down shack almost on the outer wall of Konoha, she knocks seven times on the door and then flashes the Iwa-nin signs they learnt from the brothels for strength, family and honor.

Kanzu is the one who opens the door and drags her inside—his black eyes and rigid mouth looking over her shoulder to check for the devil-eyes the street children are now afraid of—before sitting her down in the middle of the home.

"Got it Tamash í?" He whispers, his hands roving over her cloak and her arms to check if she is hurt.

Sakura nods, grinning, "Got everything we need for a while, Kanzu." His pale frame relaxes and he crushes her to him and Sakura wraps her arms around him.

She allows only them to touch her. They are family before they are street children, she knows this.

They go to the kitchen, Kanzu still holding her hand (Sakura lets him knowing he gets nervous when she leaves for the street) and she sets the sealing scroll onto the table.

"Emika, Tatsuro! Sakura's finally home!" Kanzu calls and the two children toddle into the kitchen, tripping all over themselves, calling Nee-chan at the top of their lungs.

Sakura gets crushed by red noses, big brown eyes and quivering mouths. She smiles big, knowing they have worried for nothing.

(She knows they will worry regardless—they are family and family will always worry)

"Nee-chan, we missed you! Did you do the energy levels thing again?" Emika pipes up, tugging on Sakura's pale pink curls.

Sakura let her hands drift through Emika's blonde hair before answering, "Yup! And I fooled them all!"

Kanzu loses a breath and sends her a worried glance. His shaggy black hair is hiding his worry and Sakura reassures him with a squeeze to his hand.

She takes out the sealing scroll and opens it. Her family gasps in shock when they see the chicken, the bread, apples, honey, milk and orange juice. Emiko is drooling on the table and Tatsuro is jumping up in down in glee. Kanzu just looks worried and Sakura rolls her eyes at him.

They erupt into noise all at once and Sakura laughs.

"How did you not get caught?"

"Sakura, are you sure you didn't take too much?"

"Nee-chan you are awesome at stealing!"

"I want to learn, Nee-chan!"

"They were preparing for the festival so they were really occupied. They didn't have time to look for me and I provided distraction." Sakura explains, tapping Emika's pert nose, watching the blonde girl giggle.

Tatsuro is whining towards the food and Sakura laughs as Kanzu lets go of her hand to pull out the pan and flick on the stove.

The sun goes down as Sakura and her family laugh around small portions of chicken, glasses of juice and a chopped apple. They all clean up the chipped pot and scrub their hands quickly under the last bottled water they have. Sakura fusses over Emiko's split hairs and Tatsuro's dirty nails.

Kanzu just flips her hood over his face and kisses her hair when she gets too worried.

"No! I don't wanna wrap up the food! I'm still hungry!" Tatsuro yells, skidding back towards the kitchen and leaning forward to snick an apple.

"Tatsuro Kimawari! Don't you dare touch those apples—otherwise we won't have food for this week!" Kanzu shouts, scrambling up from the beat-up cushions Sakura and Emiko had nicked from the Lemon Man.

Tatsuro freezes, hand still outstretched. "N-No more food?"

"Not unless you leave it there." Kanzu warns, black eyes narrowing into slits. His hands are on his hips and his foot is tapping on the kitchen floor in frustration.

(Sakura snuffs out a giggle at what she calls his "mother-hen pose". The older boy still glares at her.)

Hearing about the lack of food, Emika stiffens in Sakura's lap and then begins to wriggle out of her hold. "No Tatsu-baka I wanna eat tomorrow!" The blonde girl wails.

"B-But I'm still hungry Nii-chan…" Tatsuro sniffles and then runs towards Sakura, burying his head in the crook of her neck. "I want to eat more!"

Emika stops struggling and then gives a hard glare to Tatsuro who sniffles in return. Sakura just holds them closer, running her fingers over their hair.

Kanzu sighs as he looks over to Sakura. His dark eyes are tired and worn and Sakura knows that he has been at the gambling hub all day, sneaking the coins out of people's pockets. That was his job—he stole the money and she stole the food. — Sometimes the children worked with them but they hadn't let them go since Miyuka had been taken.

"I can sneak out tonight? I hear the Wood Woman has some fresh bread in her shed." Sakura offers, disentangling herself from Emika's sticky hands and Tatsuro's sniveling face. "Maybe even some of that caramel toffee that she hoards."

Kanzu gives her a grateful smile and Sakura moves over for him to clasp her hand.

Sakura gets ready quickly—she lowers her energy levels until she resembles those of a small dog, braids her hair tightly against her head and brushes the dust across her lower face so she won't shine in the night lights—before tugging the light brown hood over her head.

"Thank you, Tamashí." Kanzu smiles warmly, dropping a kiss on her head. Her older brother tugs her to his chest and Tatsuro and Emika come up to her, hugging her waist tightly.

They stay like that for a minute before Sakura pulls away reluctantly. Every step outside is a mission. Every movement might be her last and Sakura does not want to regret anything.

Kanzu's black eyes watch her painfully as she moves towards the door. Sakura grins over her shoulder, trying to reassure him that she is _alright_ and that no matter what, she will do her best to return.

"Be safe, Nee-chan. We love you." Her siblings call out quietly as she opens the door. Tatsuro gives her hands one last squeeze and Sakura bends down to plant kisses on both their downy heads.

Sakura signs the signs for strength, family and love before disappearing into the night.

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Please tell me what you all think!


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I do not own Naruto.

Please Enjoy!

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It is freezing as she nears the Wood Woman's house. The night is dark and quiet but Sakura can still hear the rush of the sewage under the cobblestones and the Lemon Man's quiet breaths as he sleeps outside on his futon.

She knows better than to approach—he is not as asleep as it seems.

Her own steps don't make any sound at all and neither does her breathing, as she keeps her teeth clenched so they don't chatter. Her footsteps are quick as she races towards the shed. In the distance she hears a dog barking and loud laughter. Sakura knows she has to be quick—she doesn't usually go out at this time of night and if she does, it's only in an emergency.

The shed is dark and the Wood Woman's nightlight is on in the bathroom. The door of the Wood Woman's storage is slightly frosted from the frigid night air and Sakura's fingers tremble as she pries the stone door open and slips in.

The cellar is cold and Sakura shushes the echoes that her footsteps make, moving so fast her tiptoes barely touch the floor. Her eyes scan the shelves of provisions and she finds the bread and the chocolate on the highest shelf.

Her eyes narrow—the Wood Woman must know who she is then—she must be even more careful.

Standing on the step-stool softly, Sakura edges herself closer to her target—fingers brushing the edge of the box. A shout comes from outside and Sakura stills completely. Another scuffle and then heavy barking and then the commotion is gone.

Sakura moves faster now, she knows that she must not have much more time till the Wood Woman comes to check on her bounty.

Her hands catch the loaves of bread and the thick creamy chocolate bars (the caramel must be in the house) and she's off the step-stool in a second, rushing to the door—her footsteps make no sound, her hands are deft as she slips the valuables in her cloak, slipped into her sealing scroll. The door opens and closes without a squeak and Sakura goes the alternative route home.

The akasen district is strictly restricted to adults but Sakura knows that Momo-nii won't mind if she slips through his club every once in a while—for a price.

Sakura is just about to slip away into the shadows when the barking starts up again. It is closer, and Sakura clenches her teeth as the lantern light of passing shinobi drifts by.

Her breathing loudens and she makes sure to pull back her hood, showing off her pretty hair and childish face. Sakura slows so that she resembles a pretty, yet innocent, young girl instead of a stealthy street child from the Hole.

Just as she turns the corner, Sakura hears the shouting.

"Get off me!"

"—Kanzu-nii—"

"—Tatsuro-chan—"

"—Wait! Not Emika!—"

Sakura is off like a shot, face furious and eyes burning, vaulting over the tall walls of the akasen district and twisting and landing like a spider in the middle of the crowded main street. She startles three shinobi, one dark-haired man that she knows as The Smoker from Momo-nii's club, the other a young woman with red eyes and lovely hair that she has seen in the Lemon Man's home, and the third, the Green Man who runs around the district every morning, wearing a bizarre green over suit.

Sakura doesn't stop to look at their shocked faces and how the Green Man lights up in a façade of ecstatic excitement. She charges on ahead, bouncing off the nicer food carts and then once she has a springboard, she curls and lands on the woman's head, slipping over to the rest of the three to get a good vantage point.

Her jump takes her up thirty feet and she hears the surprised cries of the people on the street. Sakura takes a moment to still herself and she feels herself go weightless for about five seconds –she uses them to search for her siblings—and finds the three struggling figures in the next street over.

The rush of gravity takes her and Sakura torpedoes down to earth, landing right in front of Kanzu. Her hair flutters behind her in the tight braid and Sakura's face feels as brittle as glass as she watches the officers handle her family so roughly.

The Uchiha men take a step back, surprised. Her feet make contact with the floor and she uses her energy levels to reinforce them—a trick learnt the hard way. They are so shocked that a tiny thing like her would fall out of the sky that they only watch her, eyes wide and burning red.

Sakura takes in Kanzu's bound arms and the way that Tatsuro cries softly into Emika's back and fury lights up her spine. She uses the officers' surprise against them and surges forward, steps fast and sure.

She moves like a dart, her feet sliding into the stance that she's seen from the Green Man and then moves. She uses her energy levels to form the sharp glinting metal that she's seen in the Healer house the one time she'd taken Miyuka, to slice through the manacles.

The glinting metal cuts through Kanzu's bonds and then he's free, lifting his hands to shove back the Uchiha who wrench forward is free and then slam his heel into the groin of the taller one.

He falls backward before tripping on the hem of his pants (unwrapped, really, he should know better) and hitting the ground with a loud thud.

Sakura does not let this stop her even for a moment and she ducks under the blow from the shorter, stockier one, running up his front and kicking out against his jaw before twisting and landing between Tatsuro and Emika.

Emika's brown eyes are wide and teary as Sakura hoists her up onto her shoulders, securing her and glancing back to see Kanzu do the same with Tatsuro.

She nods at him and Sakura latches the rope she keeps in her cloak to his belt loops and rushes forward. The civilians around them are too shocked to stop them and Sakura uses this as an advantage.

They duck and weave through the crowds, pushing harder when she hears the telltale yells and sounds of approaching footsteps. Kanzu is panting behind her, sweat running down his forehead and Sakura knows that she should let him catch his breath but she would rather him be safe than sorry.

His dark eyes bore into her back and Emika's pudgy fingers latch deeper onto her neck, tears wetting her hair. Sakura's own breath is coming short and her legs burn as she keeps going, ducking under stalls, leaping onto the edges of the buildings, occasionally lifting Kanzu and Tatsuro to run up the walls.

Her energy levels are dropping fast and Sakura curses herself audibly as she turns the corner to reach the akasen district.

In her head, she calculates the route—the fifty-foot wall was off-limits, Sakura could not bring them over with her strength and energy levels alone—so that left the three left turns and Momo-nii.

Sakura knows that when she reaches Momo-nii they will be safe; because the akasen protected their own and Sakura was theirs by heritage.

A hand reaches out to grab her fluttering braid but Emika's foot catches it instead and the younger girl gives a yell of rage as she kicks it away, tugging tighter on Sakura's pale throat. Sweat is running down her back as she urges her already burning legs to move _faster_ to reach Momo-nii's akasen and slip through the floorboards to the Underground.

Sakura picks up the barking of a dog and Kanzu trips, jolting the rope around her waist tighter, making her cry out.

"S-Sorry…" He pants out, legs quivering as they make the second left turn.

"S'okay," Sakura whispers.

Her vision is blurry with sweat and her back is aching with Emika's weight but she struggles on, tugging harder on the rope, Kanzu trailing behind her as fast as possible.

She if nearly dragging him, his knees brushing the cobblestones, but she does not care. They are so close.

The district is right there—Sakura can see the akasen and the Okiya's lit up the bright candlelight—and Sakura speeds forward, hands reaching out to catch Momo-nii's door when she is suddenly pulled back, a yelp coming out of her mouth.

Burnt-red eyes swirled brightly and Sakura slumps forward, her ears catching the shocked cries from Emika and the tight gripping of her younger sister's pudgy fingers before her eyes roll backwards in her head.

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Tell me what you all think! :)


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I do not own Naruto.

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Sakura wakes up in a white room.

Her hands and feet are bound with the shiny metal that she had seen on Kanzu in the alley.

Testing them, she moves her limbs, trying to get them off but the hold, keeping her down on the bed they have left her on. Frustrated tears come to Sakura's eyes and she gives a yowl of rage as she thrashes against the cutting metal.

She tries to reach her energy levels but she growls as she finds that they have cut that off—somehow—and left her dizzy and unstable. Sakura's eyes search for something that has done it but comes up empty and irritated.

Her eyes twitch in anger as she gives the shiny metal another shake. Some part of her hopes, deep down, that they will give way but Sakura knows that it is highly unlikely.

Sakura waits for hours.

She screams and cries and thrashes against the restraints. The room is too bright and too clean and it bothers her. She has never been in a place so clean or meticulous and it grates against her senses. The smell of the barely-there antiseptic, the way the lights flickered on the ceiling and how the floor shined under them.

It was quiet too. Too quiet and quaint and Sakura hates it. Green eyes rove over the door and she clenches her teeth as she prepares to bunch up her deadened muscles and hurl herself at it.

She is beside herself with worry, anger, and frustration when the door opens quietly.

Immediately, Sakura stiffens and draws her mouth into a snarl.

The man is tall and lithe, yet scarred, as he glides closer to her. She feels his inquisitive gaze on her and she growls low in her throat. In the Hole, it was a warning.

Here, it meant she was an animal.

The man lifted an eyebrow and the edge of his mouth quirked up. "Well, we've got a firecracker here don't we?"

Sakura continues to glare and thrash against the restraints. The barely-scabbed wounds open again and Sakura can smell the sharp tang of blood against the metal.

"Where is my family?" She spits out.

The man comes closer and stops right before her bed, a finger tracing the thin sheet. His knuckles are gnarled and broken and Sakura swallows.

This man has seen war.

"Your….family?" Blank onyx eyes follow her bright ones. "I was not aware that street rats had family."

Sakura growls low in her throat and her fingers dig into her palms. It will be no good if she erupts now. Her energy levels are still low and she has little to no mobility because of the restraints—the man could get away with anything.

"I wasn't aware war veterans did either." She spits back and her eyes gleam with victory when she sees his jaw tense. She has a feeling this man is difficult to frustrate.

He leans forward and Sakura jumps backwards, head smacking against the wall. Sharp teeth peek out of thin lips and she swallows again with difficulty. She should've known better than to provoke but she has been left alone for _hours._

She wants to see where Kanzu, Tatsuro and Emika are—wanted to see them safe. And she would hunt down whoever had given away their position, strip the skin from their bones and relish in their screams.

Her bet was on the Lemon Man. He had looked suspiciously tense tonight.

"Why should I tell you?"

Sakura narrows her eyes.

"Why shouldn't you?"

The shinobi chuckles and his dark eyes gleam. "You would take them and run."

"And that is a problem because?"

"I think you know."

Sakura grits her teeth and curses her natural aptitude for controlling her energy levels. She had known, ever since she was little, that what she could see, control, work on –was not normal for a girl her age. She also knows that whomever can control them as well as her would be sent to the shinobi.

"I see." She says.

A terrible smile crawls onto the man's lips but Sakura isn't as intimidated as she should be. She has seen many more horrible sights in the Okiya and the streets than this man's smile.

"Who taught you?" The man whispers close to her. She can feel his breath on her hair and face and resists the urge to flinch.

He smells of metal and blood.

"Why should I tell you?" She juts out her jaw, using his words against him.

The scarred man's eyes positively gleam and Sakura wonders if she should've just given in to his questioning. He is looking like he has found a diamond in the rough and Sakura does not like this at _all._

"Why shouldn't you?" And Sakura curses the intellect of shinobi and their ability to piss off the majority of humanity.

Sakura gives him a particularly nasty smile and leans forward. Her hair touches his hands on the bedsheets and his eyes watch her through a film of concealed curiosity.

"Where are they?"

The man smiles.

* * *

They make her wait another two hours (Sakura counts down the seconds) before the door bursts open. Kanzu is thrust in, feet stumbling from the throw, Emika and Tatsuro clinging to his neck.

His dark eyes search the room and Sakura immediately thrashes against the restraints they have her in. Her sore wounds protest but Sakura doesn't care, continuing to struggle against the bonds.

"Kanzu—"

"—Sakura—"

"—Nee-chan—"

And then they are whisked away by a tall, lithe woman with long dark hair and the burnt eyes. Their scared faces burn into her memory and Sakura howls, the rubbing of the restraints creating new wounds. Frustrated tears pile at the edges of her eyes and her chest burns with rage.

The man steps in, smiling jovially as he watches her.

"Give me them, _now_ —"

"Hmmm…little girl—"

"— _Bastard—"_

"—that was not the deal."

Sakura stills against the frame of her bed and her once bound hair, snaps from the hairband and tumbles down, reaching the tops of her thighs. Green eyes narrow in anger and a low sound comes out of her throat.

"You have used my words for your favor." She spits.

"Have I? You have only asked where they were. And they were here." The man leans against the door, and those blank eyes watch her carefully.

"…You have no honor." Sakura finally manages to get out of clenched teeth.

The man's face twists savagely, in another, horrible, _terrible_ grin and Sakura feels a shiver go up her spine.

"I don't expect a _street rat_ to know about honor." He replies, eyes burning with something feral.

"I know enough." Sakura growls back. Her hands clench and her nails dig so hard into her skin that they create shallow pools of blood. She wipes them down on the white sheets, hoping that they will never be able to get it out.

They look at each other in oppressive silence.

It lasts for almost an hour when Sakura finally breaks.

"What do you even want from us?" She says quietly.

Her heart is beating loudly in her chest and she vaguely wonders if little Miyuka was as scared as she is when she was taken. Little Miyuka who Sakura didn't even know if she was alive. Sakura watches the man slide away from the door and languidly walks stalks over to her, expression blank.

His eyes are burning though, and Sakura does not trust them.

"I don't want anything." The man's voice rumbles out from his chest and Sakura can feel the vibrations from the metal bedframe.

She narrows his eyes and the man laughs.

"Smart rat you are."

"What does the _Hokage_ want from us?"

The man straightens and then leans against the wall, next to her.

"To integrate you into normal society."

There are several seconds of silence before Sakura lets herself react. "Integrate _us_ into society?"

Her jaw tightens and Sakura's mind spins. It is highly unlikely that the Hokage would want such a giant portion of the Underworld working next to the pretty flower sellers or the popular hubs. No, the Hokage wants other things and Sakura has an inkling to what it might be.

"His ninja force has declined from the attack ten years ago—along with the increase in missing-nin—he is worried he won't have an army when he needs one." Sakura concludes and the man next to her grins again.

"Oh you _are_ a smart one." He muses.

Sakura grits her teeth again, to keep from spitting at him.

"Someone needs to foster us."

"Someone needs to foster _you._ "

Sakura stills.

"…My family?"

The man looks up at the ceiling, blank eyes inspecting a crooked lightbulb.

Sakura's breath comes short.

"It is to be decided."

Sakura snarls and leaps for his throat.

The man gives her a wave and walks out of range, ignoring her howls and thrashing, slipping out the white door.

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Enjoy! Tell me your thoughts :)


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: I do not own Naruto.

* * *

She is woken up by rough hands and dark brown eyes. The woman has a cruel set to her jaw and the way that she handles Sakura tells her that she is not unaccustomed to unruly prisoners.

"Name?" The woman asks.

Sakura notes that her voice is blank and nearly devoid of emotion—the only suggestion is the tightening of her hands on Sakura's wrist.

"Sakura."

The woman's grip tightens further.

"Last name?"

"Unknown."

The woman knows she is lying but takes off the chains anyways, leaving on the heavy energy level repellent manacles.

"Date of birth."

"Unknown."

Sakura is dragged out of the room and her hair tickles her neck as the brisk woman slips on a blindfold. A growl starts in her throat but when the woman yanks on a wayward curl, Sakura stills and quiets down.

"Siblings?"

"Kanzu, Tatsuro, Emika, Miyuka."

"Any other family members that should be notified?"

Sakura thinks about her Mother's glassy blue eyes, her clutching hands and slack mouth, how the Lady of the Okiya watched them both with hunger in her pale gray eyes and she shakes her head.

The woman hoists her up onto her back and Sakura squeaks in protest. A snort came from the woman and Sakura turns bright pink in quiet anger.

"Any other legal guardians?"

Sakura can hear the woman's heartbeat through her thick clothes and she wonders if she ever went to the akasen district.

Maybe, if she had, she would've heard of the stories that came from the Lady Onoyuki's Okiya and her pretty, pink haired charge.

At Sakura's silence, the woman grips her legs tighter and Sakura yelps. It will bruise tomorrow.

"Lady Kumiko Onoyuki of the Yuu Okiya." Sakura uses the official title of the whorehouse and feels the stutter of the woman's steps as they walk.

Sakura smiles when the woman does not ask anything else.

* * *

They arrive late, apparently, because Sakura hears another young woman hiss at her temporary guardian to _hurry it up._

Sakura is put down in a room and her hands tense as the woman does anything but throw her on the floor. The blindfold is removed and Sakura opens her eyes to the blurry sight of a hunched over old man, two, tall, dark-haired men and her siblings.

Once the woman's hands leave her, Sakura bolts forward, careful not to trip over the heaviness of her manacles, hands reaching towards her family.

Kanzu is the one who catches her, bringing his face into her neck and pressing her up against him while Emika and Tatsuro cling to her tunic and cloak, tears wetting the heavy fabric. They all stay like that for a minute; Sakura clutching what she can of Kanzu, Kanzu holding her back, Emika and Tatsuro clinging to her pants.

Someone clears their throat and Sakura shoves them all behind her. Bloodshot green eyes face the hunched old man, fierce and wild.

"Lord Hokage, what is it that we can do for you?" Sakura says evenly, ignoring how Kanzu tenses at the bitter way she says the leader's title.

She does not care—this man is selfish and greedy and she will not obey him. The Underground all knew about how the Hokage let his genin teammate rule the darker side of the shinobi world, abducting innocent children, killing off the prodigies that would not bow down to his authority. They all knew that he could not put behind the glory days, never seeing the disaster that was Konoha's underbelly.

To the Hokage, there was only Konoha—pure, glorious and good—in its prime.

The old man's eyes are deep and dark as the skim her slim stature and her gleaming eyes. A flicker of something crossed them and Sakura tries her very best not to snarl at the interest that follows it.

"It is what _you_ can do for us." He answers quietly.

Sakura tenses up. Emika sniffles into her thigh and Tatsuro tugs on the loose curls that hang around her. Kanzu keeps his grip on her hand and tenses, as if to step forward and protect her when she knows very well that she is the only one out of the four of them that can use her energy levels correctly.

"Hokage-sama, Ibiki-san says that you must remain prudent—he has never met a mind more secure than hers." The woman—a short, pretty thing with loose blonde hair and dark brown eyes—the one Sakura was brought by, says firmly.

The interest is back in the old man's eyes and Sakura makes a sound in her throat.

"…I see."

The Hokage dismisses the woman who bows low, head touching the floor, and then leaves quietly through the door of the office.

Kanzu grips her hand harder and Sakura knows that he is as scared and anguished as she is.

The old man's deep eyes flicker back to her and Sakura meets them defiantly, daring them to challenge her. She _will_ find a way to save her family.

"Sakura-chan," She winces at the familiarity, "Would you consider being fostered by the Uchiha family?"

Tatsuro lets out a startling wail and burrows his head into her side consolingly. "I d-don't w-want Nee-chan t-to go with the m-monsters."

Sakura sees the two shinobi in the background (the ones, she curses herself, she has completely forgotten about) go rigid. Panic sprawls in her chest and she turns to Tatsuro quickly.

"Tatsuro-chan, they are not monsters—they are _shinobi._ " She tries to reassure him but his desperate brown eyes look back up into her green ones.

"It is the same!" He wails again and this time Sakura gathers him in her arms, ignoring the awkward grip she has on him because of the manacles, guiding his head into the crook of her neck.

"Hush Tatsuro. We must be quiet and listen now." Kanzu says, brushing tan fingers over the blonde boy's head. "Tamashí is here."

Onyx eyes stare into green and Sakura's gaze slides back to the interested Hokage.

"We are attempting to integrate the poor into our ninja society, creating an exchange of cultures and beliefs."

Pretty words for pretty lies, Sakura thinks.

"If _you_ would like it, then I can assure your…" His eyes flicker towards the little group, huddled together, eyes fierce and strong. "Family an element of safety."

An element. An _element_ she thinks. An element means nothing to Sakura. An element is flimsy and insecure, and element is about as sturdy as the promise of shinobi.

His dark eyes capture hers again and this time Sakura lowers hers respectfully.

Even though _respect_ is the _last_ thing she feels.

"Where would you have us Lord Hokage?" She asks quietly, startling little Emika who burrows into her thigh even more, the cold of her nose seeping through the thick fabric of the black cloak.

Kanzu's hands tighten on her wrist and Emika bites the side of her thigh. Sakura doesn't even wince.

She will do _anything_ to save her family—including letting herself be sold to the devils.

"You will be placed with the Clan Head: Fugaku Uchiha and his wife, Mikoto." The Hokage answers, waving a hand at the two shinobi, one immediately heading for the window, "And the rest of your family will be put in the branch house."

"Thank you, Lord Hokage, for your generous offer." Sakura says, bowing low, Tatsuro clutching to her chest to keep balance.

And then, Sakura's eyes move upwards, green battling with dark brown. A rigid politeness crawls over her features and the Hokage stiffens slightly.

"Will I be able to be with them?"

The Hokage takes a while to answer. His dark eyes rove over the protective hold that she has on her siblings, hand tightening in Kanzu's before sighing and looking out of the window.

"If that is what you wish."

Sakura nods once and then the world begins to move again.

"Shisui-kun, why don't you get this one to your Uncle's home? Arata-kun will bring over the rest to the lovely Hiraku-kun and Chika-chan—they have been wanting some of their own for a while."

The remaining shinobi of the two –Shisui—bows. "Of course, Hokage-sama. Hiraku-jiji and Chika-Oba-san will be overjoyed to have young ones."

And then Kanzu, Emika and Tatsuro are clinging to Sakura's cloak, all tearing up and visibly sniffling and Sakura bites her lip so hard she draws blood.

She knows that she does not have much time—the Hokage looks impatient to get her to the Uchiha foster family—and Shisui, awkwardly flitting forward and then backwards again.

Kanzu is the first to give way, pressing a hand to her cheek and murmuring a stolen, anguished thank you into her ear, lips brushing against her skin. Emika follows next, before lurching and pressing kisses to Sakura's hands and covered tummy, fat tears rolling down her cheeks as she whimpers her goodbye. Tatsuro is the last—hands grabbing at her hair, snot smearing into her hood—howling his loss and Sakura presses kisses and murmurs confessions of affection into his hair, her own eyes tearing up.

"I will be with you soon."

Three sets of eyes follow her form as she straightens and sets her jaw.

Shisui grabs her by the shoulder and Sakura does not look back—she knows that if she will she will take them and run—far, far away.

* * *

So! New updates :) Hope you enjoyed it! Tell me your thoughts if you wish :)


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: I do not own Naruto

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Shisui takes her to a house on the farthest wall, the furthest away from the akasen district. Well, actually, it is more like a compound—the dark walls towering above her, seals gleaming in the receding moonlight – and Sakura shivers at how desolate the place looks.

She hopes that it is just the darkness that makes it so. She could not imagine _wanting_ to live here.

"…So your name is Sakura-chan?"

His voice startles her and Sakura jumps at his sudden question. Green eyes narrow onto black and her mouth furrows into a tight frown. He seems innocuous enough, walking beside her quietly in the darkened evening but still, Sakura cannot trust someone like the Uchiha—not when they are the ones who have been wreaking havoc on the underground, not when they have been dragging away her comrades and friends and _Miyuka_.

"What is it to you, Uchiha?"

Shisui's eyes gleam and a wide smile overtakes his face, "Hey now, easy on the hate—we're not all bad."

Her eyes harden and she flips a curl over her shoulder. "You should not make excuses for those who dishonor your Clan."

 _It only makes you look worse,_ is what she doesn't say but by the teeth that peek out of bared lips, Sakura thinks he's understood.

"The Uchiha are a bit jaded, yes but—"

"You are a clan that takes children from their homes, that takes them from the familiar and gives them to war." She bites out. "You are the people who hand us over to someone who thinks their lifestyle is better than ours—someone who uses us for their own benefit—how, exactly, is this practice something to be proud of?"

Green eyes flicker to Shisui's surprised face and Sakura's mood plummets even further. The emotions that play out on his face—staged, Sakura is sure, because this Uchiha does not scream newbie—are conflicting and somewhat insulting, frankly.

 _It looks like he's just seen the other side of the waxing moon._ She shrieked in her head, _is this what all shinobi are like? Blindly following, like cows to the slaughterhouse?_

It is in that moment, when Shisui looks at her with some sort of newfound respect, a little gleam in his eyes, the way the edges of his mouth curl in an appreciative smile that Sakura finally understands that the shinobi may pride themselves on their higher intelligence and reflexes, but they do not know how the civilians suffer. They do not know the consequences of their actions, do not know how the Underground rues the day they allowed Clans such as the Senju and Uchiha to rule over them.

"Besides why do you care? Are you not a genin?" She spits out (she stops herself from laughing at the hilarious taken-aback expression on his face) and allows herself to look much more scared and angry that she would normally show.

She is no fool, but this is the perfect opportunity to play the cretin—She wants to see how he reacts to her.

"Wh-What!? Kid, that's so rude—I'm special forces! haven't your parents told you can't just insult random people?" Shisui rages, the grip on her shoulder tightening minutely.

Sakura's eyes harden once more and she looks to him with a brutal smile.

"My parents are dead, Uchiha. Sorry if I don't have the necessary manners to coexist with members of the haute society." Sakura snarls back.

 _Blackops,_ a wary voice echoes in her mind and Sakura tries her best to hide the shiver of fear and apprehension that slips up her spine and curls at the base of her neck, tensing her shoulders even further.

As she stares into his face, taking in the pale, pale skin characteristic of the Uchiha, and those dark gray eyes, she begins to wonder. There is anger in his eyes, yes, but it is not anger that is usually attributed to smart-mouthed children in back alleyways, it is the type of anger Sakura has when she looked at the Okiya patrons, the quiet fury that alights ones features when they realize a situation in which they were not privy to necessary information.

As Shisui's anger turns into frustration and shame, Sakura quietly considers the fact that maybe this Uchiha did not agree with whatever the Hokage had planned for her people.

"What happened to them?"

The question takes a moment to sink in and the incredulous wonder slams into her and it is only by years of meticulous training and practice that Sakura manages to keep her mouth shut and her eyes blank.

Sakura just wonders how he would even survive in the Underground—how someone who _has not even known her for two hours_ is asking how and why her parents died. A vague part of her misses the fact that on the street, no one bothered to ask.

"Nothing you need to know about, _Uchiha._ " She spits towards him.

Shisui flinches at her venomous snarl and turns away from the poisonous look she sends him.

They walk the rest of the way in silence, Shisui leading them through large and small houses alike. The dawn is beginning to break when he stops in front of a _huge_ house, before throwing back his head and calling to the top window.

"'TACHI-CHAN! WAKE UP! I HAVE A DELIVERY FOR YOU!" Shisui bellows.

Sakura winces at the noise and then proceeds to glare at how Shisui looks positively delighted when the wide wooden door opens and a smaller boy, around fourteen, pushes his way out, hair stuck haphazardly in a ponytail.

"Shisui what exactly are you doing here?" Violent red eyes burn and Sakura winces against the memories that resurface.

She _hates_ those eyes.

"Here's the little thing that's coming to stay with you." Shisui says brightly, pushing Sakura forward and making her stumble.

"Get _off_ me." She hisses, swiping at the hand that hovers at her shoulder.

Shisui backs up, still smiling and puts his hands up in mock surrender. The stupid older boy continues smiling as he walks away, but once he turns the corner, it falls off, onyx eyes narrowing in thought.

* * *

Short update! They're short for reasons. :) Thank you so much for reading, tell me your thoughts if you wish!


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: I do not own Naruto.

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Sakura has always known, in the back of her mind, that the Overground was richer than the Underground. She had seen men swathed in rich silks, their skin clean and gleaming in the heat and sticky steam that escaped the sewers, walk as if they owned the entire village, their heads held high, their eyes perusing the meager markets as if they were beneath them. She had seen girls with bright eyes and flush cheeks—a change from the sallow, sunken-eyed women that had hanging breasts, paper-thin skin with the dead, empty eyes.

She knew, vaguely, that they were richer than her. They lifted their noses in disgust when they came across her, a sullen-looking child with a pinched mouth and cheeks, her eyes too sharp for her age. Their whispers suggested they pitied them and the looks they sent them—compassionate, remorseful, as if they had done something in the first place—infuriated her. The flesh had never hung from their bones, they had never been able to count each and every rib twice over, they had never lost locks of hair or shed nails from the lack of food.

She had always had an inkling that they had never been hungry, lost, or poor and this incensed her.

But she had never seen it with her own eyes. _Oh,_ she had _known_ , but she had never _seen_ and this, this—

There is a moment of shock, a shiver that runs through her body as she takes in the sight before her.

Sakura has never seen so much food in her life.

There are sweet buns and rice in strange shapes and orange slices and fish. There's a pitcher of _water_ on the table— _water,_ Sakura thinks to herself, _real water not sewer water_ —and next to it there are tinted liquids in small dishes that she's seen in restaurants but never actually tasted. There is carefully placed salmons and roe eggs and cucumbers and stringy bell peppers that sit in neat, clean plates, ready to be tasted. There is so much food that for the first ten minutes, Sakura can only sit at the table, staring at what is in front of her.

Her hands are trembling.

A spark of fury, so strong she actually has to swallow, once, twice and then a third time before she is able to calm down, goes through her. This betrayal is unlike any other. Rage burns through her, faster than ever before as she remembers all the years she has had to scramble for food, stealing from the Wood Woman, bargaining with the sick, twisted Lemon Man just for a square of chocolate or a slice of stale, wooden-like bread. She thinks of all the days where she heated water and mixed it with powdered _myoshi_ root, a disgusting, dry, yet sustaining food and put it on the table, sharing cupful's of water between fifteen hungry Okiya children and then, eventually, between her siblings. There is a tired, ever-lasting anger as she takes in the sight of this carefully-prepared food that sits innocently atop the wooden table and she wants to _burn everything down._

"Are you going to eat, Sakura-chan?" Mikoto says, her eyes creasing in worry. "You must be hungry!"

Sakura raises dark, stormy eyes to the kindly woman and pins her with an unamused glare.

"I would think so." She muses dryly. "It is not often I get to see this much food."

Mikoto seems to flinch, taken aback by her scorching tone, but Sakura cannot bring herself to care that much.

It had taken her less than thirty minutes to decide that Sakura hated everyone in the house. The bastardly Shisui had left her _here_ in the middle of what she considered to be the cesspit of luxury, where she had sat in the living room, staring, staring and staring at the fruit bowl on the table. She had never _seen_ fruit like that before—a yellow, long phallic shaped fruit, a ruby-red peach-like one and what looked like cherry tomatoes had been placed artistically inside the woven container.

It had made her sick just looking at it.

The entire house—the paneled floor, the clean walls and smell of lavender incense that filled the air—made her _sick._ It screamed of luxury and lack of hardship and it made her want to take Kanzu's penknife and stick it in the walls and drag it all around. She wanted to _wreck it._ She wanted them to know just how much the Underground suffered, just how much they overlooked when the ninja told themselves quietly, furiously, _loyally_ that they protected the village. She wanted them to feel what hunger felt like, burning and everlasting on their skin, feeling that powerful gnawing in their stomachs that told them _they could not eat tonight, not today._

The boy, Itachi, as Shisui had yelled, was quiet, eerily so and Sakura had not even dared fidget as he roved his eyes over her skinny arms, hallowed cheeks and darkened green eyes. She had merely caught his gaze and given him a sickly sweet smile, enjoying the way a flush had worked its way up his throat in embarrassment.

She had spent ten years feeling lecherous gazes on her skin, did he think she was a fool?

But what had bothered her the most was not, in fact, the boy. No, he was acceptable—intelligent, highly so, if a bit blinded by his patriotic spirit—but no. It was his _brother_ that bothered her the most.

Mikoto, their mother, had had a nervous smile on her face as she introduced her two sons to the skinny, starving girl in their living room and her husband, a stoic, unemotional man with what she devised as an angry tick in his jaw, had grunted and then turned away, heading back to his study.

Itachi had nodded at her warily, still checking over her form for any obvious irregularities but his brother had not had any restrictions and immediately, a wide, happy smile erupted on his face, his eyes sparkling in curiosity and eagerness.

He had hounded her, asking question after question and she tried at first, to subtly snub him and eventually had gone on to ignore him.

"Will you be ill if you eat too much?" Itachi asks her, bringing her out of her angry thoughts.

She wanted to scowl at him as he eyed her skinny wrists.

Instead, she remained impassive and shook her head. "No. It is…a surprise."

"How much d'you normally eat?" Sasuke asks her as well, another cheerful smile on his face as he began to pile tomatoes onto his plate. She nearly gauged her eyes out in shock and little disgust when she counted the thirty-eighth one.

 _Do they not know moderation?_ She screeched internally. _How will they survive the winters?_

"It depends." She said quietly.

"On what?" Fugaku asked not so subtly. He was probing, she knew. Sakura had known the minute she had stepped into the house that these people were _shinobi_ and that meant they were the enemy. They would not trust her if she had a pretty face and a beaming smile, they would not relent if she wove silver-tongued lies around them and batted her short eyelashes, making her jade eyes gleam in that particular way.

No, they would be ruthless and cruel and they would not hesitate to rip out her spine if they thought she was a threat, Hokage's orders or not.

"Ah, many things, Fugaku-san. I do not think it is dinner conversation." She gave him a placid smile, enjoying the way the skin under his eye began to twitch.

 _He should really work on his tells,_ she thought to herself with a little bit of a smug smile.

"I think what my husband is trying to say," Mikoto interrupted with a kind smile, but Sakura could still see the flash of aggression and annoyance at her stoicism and deflection, "Is that we are merely curious. It is not often we invite others into our home, you see. I humbly apologize if we seem too intrusive."

Sakura gritted her teeth at the way the woman had phrased her reprimand and probing curiosity. If she snubbed them now, they would think her rude, uncouth and ungrateful. But if she relented, if she gave them a tired smile and told them all that had happened to her, they would be able to complete their picture of her attitude.

Sakura also knew, that if she deflected, they would be able to gauge information out of her regardless. She knew the trick well; ask, probe and find what is hiding if they deflected—what hid underneath was often more curious than what was said out loud.

So instead, she relaxed her shoulders and let her mouth tremble a little.

Mikoto's eyes immediately softened.

 _Foolish,_ Sakura thought a little pityingly, _children are weapons on their own._

"I-I know." She allowed herself a little stutter and the lines around Fugaku's mouth lessened, his movements becoming less choppy in his waning irritation, "I apologize. I've just—I've just never seen this much food in my entire life."

Gauging their curious eyes and the way the eldest son watched her with a cat-like interest, waiting to pounce at a wrong turn, she let an embarrassed flush rise to her cheeks and made herself look demure, small, and tired. "It's been such a long day…and I don't mean to be rude…but I'm just a little…a little overwhelmed, you see."

She rose her eyes, letting tears rise to her jade eyes, flashing them a tremulous grin and went for the jugular. "You've all," She let her shoulders shake; "You've all been so _kind."_

Mikoto smiled, a genuine one this time and reached over the table to clasp her hand.

It was surprisingly soft for a shinobi's and Sakura wondered just how long it had been since the woman had picked up a kunai or a shuriken. When Mikoto's eyes softened even more at her hesitance, Sakura narrowed her eyes slightly.

She knew what Sakura was doing.

She felt her hackles rise, knowing that the both of them could play this game of niceties and veiled criticism until the cows came home. Sakura let herself relax, playing into the elder woman's trap, knowing that if she looked like she was less intimated, the woman would think she had won.

"It's not a problem, dear." Mikoto smiled again. It was a nice smile; but it was her eyes—the softening eyes with the quickening of intellect behind them, that Sakura was terrified of. "I'm sure living in situations…such as yours…must have been hard."

Sakura felt the breath squeeze of her lungs.

Her youngest son perked up. The curious one, the interested, the happy one that Sakura hated more than anything. His baleful black eyes searched hers and she felt her mouth tighten.

Mikoto looked a little smug.

Sakura wanted to leap over the table and slash her ragged, dirty fingernails over the woman's beautiful, porcelain face. She bit her lip so hard she bled in order to curb the instinct to flee.

"Oh!" Sakura cursed the day the youngest brat was born, "Where did you used to live?"

Fugaku looked proud of his son, his black eyes gleaming in delight. The oldest son cocked his head, just a little, and she knew he was cataloguing every single one of her expressions, colloquialisms and actions to use against her later on.

Sakura smiled.

It was a _nice_ smile.

"Just downtown…Sasuke, was it?" She put her chin on her palm.

The boy nodded. "Yeah. I thought you lived under ground."

Sakura's eyes flashed malevolently and out of the corner of her eye, she saw Itachi stiffen, moving his arm just the slightest bit. She knew that trick—make it look like you shifted, when he was probably palming the knives in his sleeves, ready to tear her throat out.

"I wonder." She grinned, wide and bright and then glanced around the table. Mikoto was looking at her with suspicion and Fugaku nearly outright glared in such an impassive way she would have been impressed if she hadn't seen that same expression a thousand times before. Itachi was looking at her, a small interested smile on his face, yet Sakura wasn't fooled. She saw the way his shoulders were stiff, the way a drop of sweat curved down his throat and his breathing rose.

They were nervous.

Inside, she smiled. If they were scared of her, it wasn't exactly what she hoped for…but she could use it against them. The tension was clawing at all of them, choking the hesitance from the air, and Sakura tensed imperceptibly as Mikoto smiled even wider.

The panic and frustration felt like an itch under her skin as it rose, threatening to erupt out of her in violent words and actions. She bit down on her tongue and swallowed, keeping her eyes on the way they shifted and what they looked at, _just in case._

It had not been the first time someone would dare leap over the table to throttle her.

"Well!" Mikoto clapped her hands. Sakura nearly flinched at the loud sound, stopping herself at the last minute. "Shall we eat? This will get cold otherwise."

Somehow, as she started to shovel the food into her mouth as fast as she could, gulping down the water alongside it, Sakura did not feel like she had won.

* * *

It was late at night when Mikoto finally opened her eyes and turned to face her husband in bed. Fugaku was already awake, his dark, depthless eyes trained on the ceiling.

"…Fugaku…she's…" Mikoto started uneasily, remembering the rage, the anger and bitter resentment that had flashed through the malnourished girl's eyes. It had been unlike anything she had ever seen, unlike anything she had ever even _expected_ in this village, let alone her _home._

"Hokage-sama trusts us with these children, Mikoto." Fugaku turned to her, his brows drawn together like dark thunderstorms, "To make them into perfect soldiers. I did not—could not say no. You _know_ the police force is lacking, severely, not to mention the shinobi forces in general."

Mikoto sighed, tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear. "She was one of the most tragic people I've ever _seen_ , Fugaku. Her wrists…I could have snapped them in half with a flick of my hand. And her eyes…she's so angry, Fugaku. Like she carries a burden no one can share, not even the little friends that she came with." She swallowed suddenly. "I wouldn't be surprised if she slaughtered us all in our sleep."

"She's probably considered it, my love." He trailed a hand over her shoulder and buried it into her hair, drawing her closer so that he could leech from her warmth. "But she is no fool either. She is…she's very sharp, you can see the intelligence in her entire being, how she comports herself, how she carries her body, the way she moves—everything is premeditated."

Mikoto wondered just what kind of child had to think out every single one of their moves before they could execute them, and thought of the starving children she had seen on the street when she passed The Divide that began at the akasen districts. She knew that after the Kyuubi attack, after Orochimaru's betrayal and his atrocities where exposed, things had gone bad. What was once the prime joy of Konoha's agricultural foreground had been run into the dirt, Okiya taking root, the akasen districts and the Underground flourishing under the nose of the ever-watchful Hokage.

It had been after Sasuke's fourth birthday, when she saw a pair of dirtied, skinny children with all too big eyes and pinched, sullen faces that she realized just how _bad_ the Underground had gotten. There was a certain wildness, a lawlessness that had been influenced by the gangs that had formed in that area, the mobs and the cartels slowly inching their way up from the dirt, gaining more and more influence as they established themselves into the once luxurious district.

The riots came and then the dead women on the street, men hung from lampposts, their entrails swaying in the wind as the people of the Underground marched, their eyes angry and wild as they protested their lack of food, the loss of employment, the rise in crime. Two months later, they shut the district up, pining boards to each entrance, reinforcing the barricades with thick cement and a high, razor-sharp wire that cut at the touch.

No one dared to get near, not after that.

Only after the riots had calmed, the wailing and incessant rampaging had quieted, did the Hokage issue a decree—to leave the doors of the district open. The Underground agreed, albeit barely, but even then, no one from the Overground ventured into the steel death-trap that those cement walls held.

"How could we let it get so bad, Fugaku?" Mikoto whispered, shuddering at the memory of empty, broken childish eyes, their little mouths begging for food, their stomachs rumbling with hunger, "How did this even happen? Konoha is a military dictatorship and we just let the entirety of the most renown, luxurious agricultural sector sink into the ground like it was _nothing."_

Fugaku sighed. "There are many things that we aren't privy to. That little girl…what's left of a little girl inside of her anyways…she knows _everything_ that goes on inside that district. They don't call it the impenetrable fortress for nothing, Mikoto. Our job is to hone her into a weapon. These Underground children…they're ruthless, dangerous, not to mention their cultures are vastly different from ours. Hokage-sama gave us this mission to find out what she—what the Underground—is hiding. Their people have been quiet, too quiet, and in raising her as a tool of war, Hokage-sama believes we can find out just what is hidden in those steel walls."

Mikoto thought of the little girl's rage. How she stiffened and then smiled, like an all too hungry wolf, her movements languorous and at ease, as if she had all the time in the world to strike.

She shivered at the cold, detached apathy the girl had watched them with.

"It will take time." Mikoto whispered into Fugaku's hair, "It will take time and mental fortitude."

He chuckled a little uneasily, "Let's hope she's not a wolf in sheep's clothing."

Mikoto smiled but it felt wrong, twisted.

She went to sleep and dreamed of empty green eyes begging for food before ripping out her throat.

* * *

Tell me what you think!

DISCLAIMER: this is going to be a sort of Konoha dystopia, one that sort of verges on an apocalyptic world and just y'know...is much different from the bright, sunny place in the manga/anime. The underground _is_ like a different city, a different village within the village and that's why Sakura's so different from all the people she's surrounded by now. The differences will get more noticeable with time.

Hope you enjoyed it :)


	7. Chapter 7

Disclaimer: I do not own Naruto.

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Once apon a time, there lived a mother.

She had borne many children, to many different men, each beautiful in their own ways. Her memories of the fathers were often warped; the first one who'd given her his seed was broad-shouldered and cruel, something she _would always_ remember as she fought back memories of him pounding into her, crushing her fingers into pulp.

The first father was the one ingrained in her, the one who had started it all and for that—she could forgive him for _that_ because he had given her their first child, a boy with handsome features and wild, joyful blue eyes.

She remembered little of the men in between; a few were tall, a couple were short, some were fat—she did not know which child came from which, but sometimes, she could see the curve of her cheek paired with one of her memories' lips, or her smile with someone else's eyes.

The last father was a man who had wrapped her soul around his littlest finger and jolted her heart out of her body once he left laughing, his arms wrapped around two other women, his eyes dark and cruel.

She had despaired for weeks, not eating, barely leaving her rooms to shower or clean herself. She was lost inside her mind, trying to recall every inch of his touch, every moment he spent dragging his tongue over her skin, the rough pads of his fingers that ghosted over her breasts in her dreams. She wanted to remember it all—she _needed_ to remember it all or she would go insane, never to come out of the blissfully ignorant cage she had built inside her mind to remember everything he had ever offered her—even if it was measly, and cruel, and degrading.

Her children, her little handsome boys with her own father's blue eyes, all seven of them took care of her, moving her tenderly to the washroom, brushing her hair when it was time for business, carefully arranging her clothes and begging her to eat, to _move_ to do _anything_ so that she could go back to normal.

It had been the little bump on her stomach that had snapped her out of it. Three months after he had left, she had yawned, rolling over and then frowned once she noticed that she could not longer lie flat on her measly bed. At first, she had thought it bloating and blissfully ignored it until the end of the day, but it had been when her seven sons had sat down for dinner, pounding _myoshi_ root into the water to make the meager soup thicker, that she had felt it.

The quickening of a child inside her stomach.

She had instantly fallen in love.

Her sons, not so much, not so quickly.

For they remembered the months where she despaired and sat at the wall, catatonic, unable to move, to eat, to breathe—to _live._ They remembered the charms of the foul man who had wrapped their mother's heart around his fingers and tugged and tugged and tugged until everything that had made her _her_ —was gone.

So they watched as she fluttered over the child that festered in her womb, the little boy that would come from the man who had broken their mother's heart and feasted on her misery and despair, parading around with the other whores, his eyes twinkling with cruelty as he watched their mother, enjoying the way her eyes misted as she walked by, how her hands curled into fists.

They remained impassive, even as she screamed and begged and cried when she was in labor, sobbing for the man who would not come, not even if he saw her entrails swinging from a lamppost in the streets, not even if she held all the gold and secrets and lies in the world.

And then—

Once apon a time there was a mother, who instead of a son, gave a daughter.

* * *

Sakura went to sleep angry and woke up angry. Her entire world revolved around the fact that she is captive in a home where she _cannot_ be in, a home which rejected her instantly, and, even though she loathed to be there in the first place, there was a small, pitiful part of her, a small, childish part of her innocence that she had not dared to kill, not _yet;_ That destroyed her to feel like the outsider—like the one who was unwanted, always and forever. It ruined her, little by little, to have that cruel, outright rejection in every look, every touch, ever word of the family's movement—to have them not even attempt to _pretend_ that they ever wanted her in the first place.

So, Sakura bared her teeth and pasted on ever-lasting, simpering smiles and played the game the Hokage had thrown her into.

The days passed slowly, inching by into weeks and then into half a month and still, she played the game. It grated on her nerves and made her feel restless, like she was stuck in a cage that she would never be able to leave—an entrapment she could never be able to escape unless they gutted her of her secrets and made her spill every single clandestine mystery she had ever kept, leaving her to choke on her lies and suffocate on her small, but effective, diversions.

Sakura spent her days stuck halfway between her room; a spacious, clean compartment with a bed that was always neat, and sported feather-soft sheets and a dresser that was nestled under the window. The first time she had stepped into the room—the clean, white room that smelt of laundered sheets and whiffs of lavender—she had tensed, remembering the cold, sterile interrogation room that hid her siblings from her. A bitter, vengeful smile had crawled across her lips and she _swore_ that she would leave the cage, because it was, in fact, a cage—just with pretty decorations and gilded, golden bars. She slept on the floor instead, terrified of the bed that she had once (and only once) slipped into and had threatened to swallow her whole; her body sinking into the depths of the mattress. She had gotten off quickly, taking a soft— _too soft_ —pillow with her and curled up on the top of the dresser, her cheek pressed to the cool of the glass, the heartbeat that had risen in her throat, slowly calming as she spent the night against the hard surface of ever-familiar wood.

At first, Mikoto had laid down clothes for her, at the foot of the neat bed. They were pretty clothes; lacy green dresses to match her eyes, long, red, blue, black and gold kimonos embroidered with flowers that had high, embellished collars to choke her with and she would have worn them; if she knew that they hadn't laced them so that she would not be able to move as fast, wouldn't be to run if she _did_ bolt for the hills.

So instead, she kept her itchy, ratty clothes; the dirty brown shirt that smelled faintly of mold and had holes littering the sleeves, the black, scraping pants that she had nicked off of a jonin, brushing the tops of her calves from having shrunk in the wash one too many times, instead of sweeping the ankles that they should have loosened around. She swallowed down the bitter resentment that rose in her every time she looked at those pretty, clean dresses, the clothes that she so _desperately_ wanted to wear—something, _anything_ that was solely hers and hers alone. She kept her anger, burning, simmering, raging at the back of her mind, building it up, brick by brick, wall by wall, waiting, watching for when the time was right.

Sakura knew, she always _knew_ , that she could not ask—could not _dare_ to ask—to leave. She didn't—never did—know the rules to this chivalrous, polite game the Hokage and the Uchiha family had offered her and even though she grew steadily angrier, crazier with every day she stuck inside, sitting at the damned window, staring at everything and anything passed in and out of the district—the little, joyful children, the elders that moaned and groaned about their problems, the shinobi that watched them with deadened eyes, the kunoichi that pretended to be housewives, hiding their knives under their skirts and in their sleeves, yet always tensing, always waiting for when a fight broke out. Even though she grew madder and madder, her anger, her rage at being stuck inside a room, at never being able to catch a glimpse of the siblings she adored so much, she still sat at the window, her ratty, jagged nails digging into her palms and breathed, thinking of the day when she could finally burst free, leaving behind a massacre, a slaughter of open throats, half-lidded, glazed eyes that would never open again, mouths that would never speak their last word, fingers that would never twitch one last time.

Still, she kept her vigil, watching the Uchiha compound, cataloguing every movement, every breath, every word of the shinobi, the civilians, the _children_ that she could see inside the walls, thinking of all the ways she could get out of there. She kept up her charade; the smiles, soaked in loathing and embittered by her imprisonment, still doing their job and she never said a word of herself, of her district, of the people she had left behind—the people she had been snatched away from.

Sakura knew they were angry, she knew that every time she went down to feast on the food they had prepared every night, they were furious as she asked innocently laced questions about the flowers, their culture—she appeared the perfect, lost child, the one that knew nothing of the worlds she came from.

Her system was simple and deadly efficient—watch, observe, manipulate and conquer.

While they plied her with food and drink, she watched their every breath, their every move and the words they used like they were weapons in themselves. She made it a game: how many flowers did she see today? What was that new fruit over there? What were those things dangling from Mikoto's ears, they were ever so pretty? I heard that there was to be a festival soon, do you know who will be there? Oh, so they dance at these festivals…are they pretty? Do you dance? Have you ever danced at all, Fugaku-sama?

Yet the anger, the shame that rotted inside of her every day, felt sticky and hot, like the shame and embarrassment she felt when she had to sneak out of the sewers, carrying mangy rat carcasses, shit and piss and plastic stuck in her hair, dirt and who knew what else smudging the underside of her fingernails. Her anger, burned inside of her, and while she tried to build it into something cool and endless to call on when she needed it, the rage and fury that charred the inside of her made her feel broken, _useless_ when she could not even see her siblings.

It is in her every movement, in her every waking thought—where are they, where are they, _I will find you, I will always find you_ —when she slides down the clean, sparkling stairs for another battle, when she sits at the table, ready to pick up her chopsticks and her wit, ready for a slaughter, a preemptive move to keep them waiting and ever-restless. But there is a part of her, a part that is screaming and burning inside of her, that shifts under their scrutiny, a part of her that wants to scorch their eyes from their head, to pick up the tempting silvery needles the eldest son keeps in his sleeves and stick them in their black, depthless, endless eyes and watch as the blood gurgles in their throats and their breath stutters in their chests, the life slipping away from their body.

There is a part of her that is _so close_ to deciding to _fuck it all to hell_ and breaking their shins, making toothpicks out of their cochleae as they smiled at her, an ever-lasting, bulging smile, their polite conversations and slow, progressive manipulations sliced in half as they take their last breaths.

A glare of harsh sunlight breaks her out of her murderous thoughts and she sighed. Dragging a hand through her sleek hair, parting the pink locks into another, tightly-knit braid, she pasted on a bright, curious smile and slipped out of the room, ready for another battle, another round of subtle questioning.

Perhaps this time, she could ask about the new, engraved kilns that had arrived on the porch of the pottery shop she so often watched from her window. She could already imagine Mikoto's pinched smiled and Fugaku's eye twitching as she went into long, languorous detail about the texture of the pots and cups, not to mention the kilns themselves.

As she reached the last step, she looked up.

Dark, depthless eyes smiled at her.

She bit back a poisoned grimace and widened her smile instead.

It would be a long, desperate lunch.

* * *

The Hokage was not a patient man.

He had endured days, weeks, _half a month_ of the Uchiha's failings and he could not tolerate another day. The situation was becoming dire—the Underground was more powerful than ever, more influential than before and he _needed_ the information the children brought. It had taken every ounce of his soldier's tact and stealth to be able to catch even a handful of children from the district.

He had been uneasy, at first, about taking the children from their homes, but then he had _seen_ them. The little boys and girls whose eyes were empty, whose heads were full of rage and bitterness and crazed voices that spoke to them about harm and anger and how to push where it hurt most. They were a cruel, emotionless people who breathed in the anger of others and took all the pain, molding it so that they held it against them, burning through everything good that was ever offered to them.

There was nothing, _nothing_ that made them better than the thieves, liars and murderers he knew they were.

Konoha was falling, this he knew, this he acknowledged, but he would be damned if he allowed the pitiful Underground, the city with no borders, the metropolis with stolen houses and vengeful, hungry people, who had no pride, no joy—who roiled in poverty and planted seeds of hate and bitterness in the minds of their people—to gain anymore ground. They were expanding slowly but surely, and the street he had grown up on as a child had been overtaken by a row of seedy shop districts, the high, wooden boards nailed to the side of the fifty-foot walls, sharp, cut-throat wire ringed around every brick.

He sighed, a knock at the door of his study breaking him out of his contemplative thoughts.

"Come in."

Dark blue eyes, a wicked smile and an intrigued tilt of a head greeted his sight. A tall, lithe man stood before him, his arms crossed behind his back. A scar traversed the side of his face, all the way from his temple to his jaw, and it stood out against the tan, calloused skin he sported. He stood, limber and ready to snap into a fighting stance, the smile that curled his lips a dangerous one.

"Hokage-sama, is there something you need me for?" The young man purred his voice smooth like silk against bare skin.

Hiruzen grimaced. He was loathe to do this but…he needed to keep the little girl on the tightest leash he possibly could. Danzo had found the man, desperate and vicious, at the fighting rings in the Southern part of the district. They had taken one look at his dark blue eyes, the similar cheekbones and dragged him all the way to the interrogation unit, no matter that he was kicking and screaming and he managed to hack off two operatives' fingers before they were able to throw him into a cell.

 _Like brother like sister, it seems._

"Rokuro-kun…there is a little someone that you need to visit." Hiruzen began slowly, "They are young, a child—ten or so…they're making up quite a racket over in the Uchiha Compound. Mikoto and Fugaku, for all that they are as shinobi, are no infiltration experts…not like you."

Rokuro flashed a sinister smile, his hands still clasped behind his back as his features eased into a smug, yet curious expression. "You would have me…break them?"

Hiruzen shook his head and then took a long drag of his pipe, fingering the well-loved wood as he thought of the many courses of action he knew he could use. It would be better, in the end, if the girl could be…convinced to trust them, _him._ She was embittered and vicious and he dared not forget the loathing and mocking look she had given him that night in his office all those weeks ago, the one that screamed that she _would_ find a way to get what she wanted, even if she had to through the entire shinobi force herself.

She would become a valuable asset; one, he had no doubt, that would be able to crush mountains as easily as human skulls. It was only a matter of…getting her to _see_ that power, getting her to crave it for herself and then…to use it for the good of Konoha. Hiruzen knew that convincing the little angry girl to march against the Underground would take much, _much_ longer, but perhaps…if she had the right incentive, then maybe…maybe…

"No, not…not break them." He stroked his chin, setting his pipe down on the desk in front of him. A little pile of ash blew out of it and he prodded at it thoughtfully, "I need you to bring them to that breaking point, to drag them close to the edge—preferably, to have an audience when she _does_ break. But for now…watch her. Keep on your guard. You will find her in the main house in the Uchiha Compound."

"May I have a name, Hokage-sama?" Rokuro asked, his dark blue eyes flashing malevolently.

Hiruzen smiled, low and calculating, like he was already imaging how the girl would struggle in the trap he had laid out for her. Like a fly stuck in the web of the sticky, sticky spider.

"I believe, Rokuro-kun, that you will recognize her on sight. She is, after all, one of your own."

Hiruzen didn't notice the way that the man stiffened before he bowed low, his long, sleek hair brushing the floor of his office, the action reminiscent of his younger sister all those weeks ago.

In the flash of the afternoon sun, the glare of his bleached red hair looked pink.

* * *

Sasuke was uneasy about the new girl that lived with them.

She was different than the girls in his academy class. Her eyes were darker, and the childish light he had come to associate with the children around him was gone from her wide, jade eyes, as if it had never existed in the first place. She was always scowling, her lips puckered into a displeased expression when she got lost in thought, which was rare enough on its own because was _always_ smiling.

Her smile was a terrifying sight in itself, something that Sasuke couldn't really comprehend because—weren't smiles supposed to be joyful and kind? Hers looked…like she was going to eat everyone alive and wittle weapons out of their bones. There was a certain madness that he could see in her smile, when her upper lip twitched and her features rearranged themselves seamlessly, taking on an uneasy perfection that made him want to slap her, just in case he could squeeze a _real_ smile from her.

In fact, most of the people in his home were smiling now. He didn't really know how to feel about it either, because it wasn't the type of smile that he had always known from them; there was no speck of motherly love in his Okaa-san's eyes as she beamed down at the girl, there was no semblance of fatherly pride as Otou-san acknowledged her. Itachi was even more on edge, Sasuke could _tell_ because his brother wouldn't leave his room at night. He sat on the windowsill, his kunai strapped to his sleeves, his red, red sharingan eyes spinning so fast Sasuke could barely keep up with them.

Of course, he wasn't stupid.

He knew that the girl was the root of the problem. The way his parents whispered in their room and then in the kitchen, their voices low and mistrusting as they watched her eat—another mystery; she ate as if she had never, not _once_ had enough food in her life—and their unsettled looks carried, making Itachi go even tenser, his muscles so rigid Sasuke was afraid for them to snap.

But still, she carried on with that awful smile, while her eyes looked dead in her face and she fingered the edges of her dirty clothes. Sasuke never learned anything new about her either, except that she was always hungry, that she ate everything on her plate and _more_ (Ino should take notes, that was how a _real_ shinobi ate) and that she came from the 'Underground', wherever _that_ was. She deflected perfectly, with simpering smiles and watery thank yous, as if she hadn't done it a million times before and then would question what she was eating— _"What is this, Mikoto-sama? I've never seen rice shaped this way!"—"I happen to like your umeboshi today, Uchiha-sama, did you do something new to it?"_ —and Sasuke couldn't stand it.

There was nothing new with the food, there was nothing _special_ about onigiri and shaped rice, there was nothing mystical or magical about the fruit on the living room table and he _hated_ that she found it so.

But what he hated even more was that he knew _nothing_ about her. Not her last name, not where she lived, not what she liked, not anything about her 'little friends' as Okaa-san called them, not even what she truly looked like without those scratchy, itchy clothes and the tight, perfectly neat braid she stuck her hair in as she descended the stairs. There was nothing he or anyone could glean from her, nothing that he could ever hope to _understand_ about the stranger in the seat next to him; the girl with murderous eyes and the bright smile.

When she had come into his home, he was happy; a little shocked, a little surprised— _Uchiha never invite outsiders into their homes, my son_ —but happy. She was a novelty, with her strange, bizarre _pink hair_ and her wide, sparkling jade eyes. And then she had started smiling and shoveling food into her mouth and it had all gone down the drain.

He glared into his food as his mother passed the salt to his Aniki, a tight smile spreading her lips. He wanted nothing more than to scream at the top of his lungs as the girl shoveled another mouthful of rice into her face, and then, and then _smiled again._

"Mikoto-sama, I just happened to see that the potter's new kilns arrived today." She paused mid-bite. Dimples flashed on her cheeks and Sasuke scowled even harder, jabbing his chopsticks harder into the flesh of a tomato, "They're very prettily embellished…do you know where they came from?"

His mother breathed a long-suffering sigh, one that was easily hidden by the glass she took a sip out of. Sasuke wanted to smirk at the way his mother navigated through the verbal minefield the girl had laid out for her. It was impressive how his Okaa-san just smiled and continued talking, easily, casually, as if they had never had anything to hide, as if she wasn't getting frustrated and angered at the way the girl just deflected _everything and everyone_ as if it were sport.

 _She's—she's so_ , he spared a glare for the pink-haired girl who was innocently waiting for an answer, her head titled _just so_ and her eyes flashed prettily, _annoying._

"Sasuke!" His mother gasped, and he realized he had spat the words aloud. He flushed, embarrassment crawling up to his ears as the back of his neck glowed fire hydrant red. "She is a _guest,_ Sasuke. Apologize now, please."

Next to him, Itachi tensed to much that Sasuke was genuinely terrified he was going to pull something—maybe in his neck.

The girl's gaze was riveted onto him and Sasuke saw a flash of something murky and dark flicker across those jade eyes. He tensed at the way her smile turned predatory, her next words coming out in a low, sensual purr, something he was entirely sure that someone his age should not be able to do.

Out of the corner of his eye, his father laid his chopsticks down, his mother following suit.

"Oh, it's no _matter_ , Mikoto-sama." The girl— _Sakura_ —suddenly became much more tangible to him then. She shifted in her seat, uncrossing her legs in a way that made his Aniki's hand drop to the pouch on his hip. Propping up her chin on her hand, she leaned forward, her eyes sparkling curiously, _innocently_ , in the light of the day. There was no sign of the murky, darkened rage that he had seen pass through her pretty eyes, no sign of the anger he sometimes caught as she glided up the stairs to sequester herself away in the hours after their meals.

There was only her—a curious, open child with a penchant for verbal sparring.

It unnerved him and a shiver crossed his skin, something deep inside of him, an instinctual, primal part of him whispered that he had to _back down_ , even if she had dark pink hair, dimples and wide, scintillating green eyes that could pull anyone in.

"Tell me, Sasuke…" She leaned forward a little more. Itachi gripped the kunai in his sleeves and slid senbon through his knuckles, "Why do you find me so annoying?"

He sat still for a moment, captivated by the way she so easily played everyone around her and then he let a measured beat pass through them, uneasy at how her braid suddenly slid over her shoulder and clinked softly against her plate.

Sasuke swallowed—

"I just find it…interesting," He tried to copy her drawling, casual tone but the last echo of his words wavered, "How you seem to have so much to hide for someone who's my age. Dallying in games and illusions—we aren't immune to logic."

As the words escaped him, Sasuke knew, _immediately,_ that he had said something wrong. Delight, feverish and cruel sprang into her eyes and her mouth curled into a real, genuine smile before she let out a laugh.

It was like tinkling bells, a pretty cacophony of pleased sounds that tingled as they spread across his skin.

It was _terrifying._

"I was wondering," Sakura said, sitting back into her seat, fiddling with the end of her braid. She kept her green eyes on him, a pleased smile playing at her rosebud mouth, "How long it would take for one of you to break."

Sasuke regretted ever breaking that charade of happy inquisitiveness.

What he would give now, to see that bland, curious smile, instead of the madness that seemed to drip from her every action.

* * *

In her head, Sakura was cursing the boy.

The stupid, blunt, _obnoxious_ boy who _dared_ to break the game. She gripped her braid so tightly she thought she was going to break it off before she sucked in a quick, quiet breath.

 _Don't you dare panic,_ she screamed inside her mind as she pasted on a pleased expression, as if she was waiting for them to break all along, _Don't you dare show them you're panicking._

Mikoto fixed her with a hard, brutal stare across the table and she widened her smile, making sure to make it look like her eyes were crazed. Still, she kept her gaze on the boy who broke everything she had been working on these past weeks, and she curled her hands into fists.

There was only one way to save this—to save _herself_ —and it was to play along. She had a goal: to find her siblings, to keep them safe, and it was only now, in this opportunity—she refused to call it a failure when they had gleaned nothing from her yet—that she could exact her plan.

Watch, observe, manipulate and conquer.

 _I needed more time, I need more TIME—don't you dare panic. Don't you dare, don't you dare, don't you dare—_

"What, exactly…are you curious about?" Sakura didn't—couldn't—go into specifics because that would mean she would show them just how smart, just how cunning she was and she would never, _never_ reveal her weapons when they had not even begun the fight.

Fugaku stiffened, raising himself to his true height, pinning her with a dark, furious gleam in his eyes. He leaned backwards— _trying to seem relaxed, which means he saw through me, HE SAW THROUGH ME—don't panic, don't you dare, don't you dare_ —against his chair. He watched her, carefully, his eyes perusing her feigned manic delight, how her fingers dug into the skin of her jaw so hard, she saw sure they would leave marks.

Sakura merely raised an eyebrow, waiting.

Mikoto huffed, the first sign of true annoyance she had portrayed in a while, and threw down her napkin, crossing her arms over her chest, her lips pursed in a straight, unamused line.

"You are aware about what we are curious about, Sakura." She said sternly, a tone that, maybe years ago, she would have bowed to; but she had grown, and not even the stern, unyielding tone of the Uchiha Matriarch could make her bow down, to reveal what she did not want to.

"Am I?" She leaned more heavily on the hand that propped up her chin, blinking rapidly. "You are the ones who have brought me into your home, fed me, and then left me alone. I believe, if you truly wanted something from me—which, obviously, you do—then you would have ripped it from me much faster."

Something uneasy passed in Mikoto's face and Sakura relished a little, in the way the older woman hesitated for an ounce, a heartbeat of time, before that pretty face hardened.

"And you have been playing us all along."

Panic, pure unadulterated panic surged inside her breast and Sakura tried not to tense or move too fast. She kept her smile on, kept up her charade—the only thing she had left to protect her from the monsters that sat across the table, ready to rip her apart, ready rip her _siblings apart._

"Mikoto." Fugaku's voice reverberated across the entire room, silencing any other words that could have escaped his wife's lips. "Now is not the time for accusations."

He turned back towards Sakura, his eyes hard, his face pinched in a frustrated expression. "We have given you time to grieve, we have given you time to object—and you have done neither. You are to join the academy in the upcoming week. I believe that your orders…our Hokage's wish for you, has been clear from the beginning. You are to do as we say."

 _Don't—don't—don't PANIC—_

Faster than they could blink, Sakura lurched forward, tackling Itachi to the ground and just as he was about to turn, pinning her to the ground and no doubt, about to slash at her unprotected throat, she ripped one of the knives he kept up his sleeves out of his grasp, breaking his index and thumb fingers.

She was across the living room before they could catch her and she ignored the gasp of pain the eldest son made, as he clutched his broken, dangling fingers, his eyes wide and his chest heaving.

Mikoto had half risen out of her seat, Fugaku's eyes already spinning in the burnt pattern Sakura had learned to avoid, when she held the knife to her neck. They froze as Sakura dug it deeper into her skin, a pearl of blood slipping down her throat and soaking into her clothes.

"I would suggest," She breathed a little heavily, "That you do not order me around. Or I _will_ do it."

"We have three others of your _kind_ , what makes you think—"

"Ah, yes." She smiled this time, a genuine, real one, and they must have seen the glaring rage, the burning fury and madness clawing at her eyes because they all flinched, Sasuke, the youngest, boorish son going a shade paler, "Three others that do not know how to use…how do you say it? Chakra? The youngest ones, twins—they _can't_ use it. A defect at birth. The eldest of us all, he will not bow to your wishes. I am the only one who has the power to do this, to become the weapon you all desire. So I suggest…that you listen."

"You don't know that." Fugaku nearly snarled. He was so tense that Sakura thought he was going to snap his neck if he didn't relax. "We have offers. Your life is…inconsequential."

Sakura shook her head, laughing, "You know nothing about me. Once he learns—once Kanzu learns I have killed myself—well, let's just say…" She leaned forward, the knife slicing further into the soft, fleshy skin of her throat. Pain lanced through her and she stopped a grimace before it could fully form on her face, "…he will not be pleased. Of course, the Hokage…well, he put a lot of effort in luring me out, didn't he?"

Itachi, who had never, until now, spoken to her directly, pinned an interested, inquisitive stare at her and Sakura cocked her head. Beads of blood pooled at the notch of her throat. Mikoto stiffened as she saw.

"What makes you think this Kanzu-san won't bow to _our_ wishes?" He asked softly, carefully, and Sakura knew that if she let him, he would walk her into a trap she could not get out of, "He can use his chakra. He has motive to save the younger children he lives with. And the Hokage could be…swayed to accept our decision. You were too rash, too arrogant…too cunning."

Sakura snarled softly, going for the killing blow. "Kanzu knows there are more than a couple of ways to cripple oneself. More than a couple of ways to never come out the same. And the Hokage does not _want_ Kanzu. Not as much as he wants me. But then again…my life is in your hands. Don't doubt that I won't hesitate."

There was a moment where the family processed the threat, fully encompassing, in their minds, the enormity of what she was implying, of how far they were willing to go for each other. A part of her screamed at herself for revealing her attachment to her siblings, but the other shushed it immediately—her affection for her siblings was something she couldn't hide, something _no one_ could hide, not even when they tried their hardest.

So it was better to use it now, as leverage for her life, for her _wish_ instead of later, when she was more vulnerable, more exposed for the attack they were undoubtedly planning on her. It was rash, too bold but she knew this was the only way, the _only way_ that she could do it now.

"What do you want?" Sasuke spat. His eyes burned with hatred and anger, and internally, she relished in his obvious mistrust and disgust in her. "What do you want that we can give you?"

All the better to be the villain. Then she would not have to back up her actions with perilous moral decisions that were shifty, crafty illusions at best.

"I want," She swallowed, loosening her grip on the knife at her throat, "To see them."

"Very well." Fugaku inclined his head regally.

"And—"Mikoto's eyes flashed in frustration, "I want to go outside."

* * *

Tell me what you think! There's going to be a culmination soon...and Sakura's going to go to the academy in a bit.


	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Naruto.

 **Status:** Incomplete

* * *

Kanzu had watched her leave with his heart jumping in his throat. Her braid swished down her back, brushing the small of her spine and her steps were steady and calming as she was brought out the door, the tall, dark-haired teenager moving in step with her. He had heard the door close with a soft _snick_ and then took a deep breath, his grip tightening on Emika and Tatsuro's shoulders.

His younger siblings mewled into his touch, their tears making his breath hitch and his own eyes burn with anger and fear. He wanted to never have opened the door that night. He wanted to never have not noticed that it wasn't Sakura who signed the symbols for entry. He wanted to never have not noticed the red, spinning eyes that had copied every single one of Sakura's movements and mannerisms and gain enough time to reach over and grab them by the scruff of their necks and drag them out of the hole in the wall.

It had been terrifying seeing his siblings screaming and sobbing as they were pulled out of the Underground, their bodies vibrating with fear and horror as the Uchiha Monsters chained them up with the inhibitors and pulled them out of the district, jarring their bones and cracking their joints. His heart had been beating so fast in his chest he could barely concentrate on trying to keep them from leaving-the only thing he wanted, the only thing he concentrated on was getting Tatsuro and Emika to stop screaming.

 _Never show weakness_ , Sakura had told him once, eyes blazing in the steady, burning way that they usually did, _you are invincible, untouchable. Once they know your weakness, they can take it away from you. Defend it like it's your own soul._

But in that moment, as he heard the screams of his siblings and felt the calloused, itching hands of the captors on his neck, he had forgotten every single lesson Sakura had ever told him. He had screamed and bucked and kicked, trying to get them to release their hold on him- _Fight._ Sakura said, _fight like it's the last thing you'll ever do_ —and snarled, growling and spitting and churning his rage to try and get to his siblings. Their sobs and screams were echoing like gunfire in his ears and he _needed_ to reach them when—when—

Sakura slammed into the ground, her eyes burning. Her face was tight and pale, her lips pressed into a strained line. Her eyes, so green, so bright seared into him for a single moment-anger, endless, destructive fury scorched so fiercely he nearly flinched-and then she was moving, slamming her foot into their captor's neck, throwing her body in the way of their siblings, giving them ample time to escape. There was a flicker of her energy levels, deadly, luminescent knives dangling in the air, their cuffs were gone, and she swiped Tatsuro and Emika up and out of the way, dragging him back to the district.

They weaved through the crowds, Sakura's pink braid whipping into his face, Emika on her back, Tatsuro safely in his clutches. He had heard the grunting, choked screams of the men behind them and had urged himself forward, Sakura nearly dragging him by the rope around his waist, his knees skimming the cobblestones.

He had thought, for one, glorious, relieving moment as they turned and spotted the arch of the district entrance and the whorehouses that lined the streets, billowing, sticky steam rising from the ground, that they would make it.

And then, they had caught her.

They had caught _Sakura_ the girl who never bowed or lost, the girl who was illusive and never truly quite able to be touched. And she had gone down, her body stilling for one, quick moment and then her eyes had rolled back into her head and her legs gave way, into the awaiting cuffs that the Monster Men had for them.

Seeing her there, her limbs brokenly assorted, her hair flush against her cheeks with Emika screaming as they dragged her away from them had killed him.

Seeing Sakura who was so strong, so bright and so _angry_ lying there, her head lolling, her arms jumbled and uncoordinated as they lifted her by her ratty brown cloak, had _killed_ him.

Sakura never bowed. Never lost. She was always careful and she _always won._

He saw the greed in their eyes when they watched her. He saw how they envisioned her a murderer and a killer; a girl without family or ties, a girl without much tether to her sanity.

A cannon fodder girl.

The breath had seized in his throat and he groaned, reaching out to grab her, to take Emika and Sakura away, to keep them _safe_ —because—because— _they couldn't take her—they couldn't._

The first time he remembered seeing Sakura was in the Cage. Her hair was drawn in a braided ponytail, falling all the way down her back; bone fragments glinted in the dim light of the Underground tavern, flickering through the metal bars, knotted around her hair. The familiar face-paint; red stripes under her eyes for bravery, green lids for concentration, blue lips for courage. It looked faint, blurry, in the dim light, as if the paint had already begun to run down her cheeks, a macabre picture of brutality and light—the little girl with the beautiful pink hair, yet vicious black eyes.

Her fingers had spun around glittering knives, dancing along her knuckles at a pace so fast, his eyes could barely follow them.

He was stumbling, nose broken from the last fight, words slurring and feet dragging in the dust.

She was the prodigal daughter, the prizefighter, the one people bet their livelihood on.

He hadn't known her name then, or her kindness, and when the shot had gone off, he'd lurched forward, desperate to survive, if only for a little longer, if only to taste his dying grandmother's soba noodles again—

 _(This was one fight he couldn't lose, this was one fight he needed to win—grandmother was going to starve if he didn't—)_

Landed a single punch to her cheek—

And she'd slammed her fists in his face, flipping over him, diving between his legs, twisting around him. She played him like the knives that danced across her knuckles, played him like the pretty marionettes he sometimes saw in the Okiya, the rich children laughing and clapping as a whore dangled the pretties from her fingers.

She was vicious and cruel, unrelenting and she beat him into the dirt, made him taste his own blood, made the skin on his knuckles break and bone shine through his muscles, tattered and chalky white.

She didn't pull her punches—raining her fists down on his every movement, bruising his spine, his stomach, his chest, his face—and he choked on his spit, a tooth dislodged in his mouth, rattling against his bloodied tongue.

The crowd roared and cheered, unhinged on bloodlust and blood money, and when she flipped him over her like a doll, he saw that the paint on her face was, in fact, running down her cheeks.

The last thing he'd seen was the brutality in her eyes and her leather gloves coming down on his nose before he blacked out.

He woke to the sludge of the gutter, shit pressed against his cheek, sludge seeping in his clothes, plastic stuck in his hair. He smelt of bad Udon and he wheezed, muscles trembling as he tried to lift himself out of the gully. Tears fell from his eyes and he cursed the girl, he spat on her name and wished she'd die a thousand deaths, wished her family was cursed by a fire-breathing chicken and that the Overground Men would take her away and _kill her._

"Well," A familiar voice had drawled, and he'd looked up to see a skinny girl with too-big eyes and a hard edge to her jaw. "That's a lovely monologue. All for me, darling? I've never been privy to a hate-rant before."

He'd flushed then, anger and shame blooming in his cheeks because she could beat him into the ground ten-times over and he'd just insulted her every ancestor with language his grandmother would smack him twice-over for and rinse his mouth with soap for good riddance.

" _What do you want?"_ He'd spat out, hate making him draw on the last vestiges of his dignity, and pulling himself up with all the pride of a noble.

She'd eyed him, sharp and clear, and he wondered when he began to realize that her eyes were _green_ instead of black and cruel as night. She looked washed out and tiny without the face paint and the bones in her hair, or the leather gloves that covered the smashed, scarred knuckles that the knives had danced over hours before.

"I heard your old lady's dying." She said, calmly—because of course, he hadn't realized yet, that Sakura was kind even if her words were mean, even if she spat on you and cursed you for all you were worth.

Back then, though, he had felt rage flicker in his stomach and dangerous, furious heat rise in his cheeks and he'd stumbled forward, a wobbling fist reaching for her face.

She'd sidestepped him of course, bastard child that she was, and let him fall face-first in the rotten sludge, a carton of ramen pressing into his cheek, full of blood and mud and half an eye.

Of course, back then, he hadn't known how to quit or how to read the tense, nervous line to her shoulders, or the anxiety that made her curl her fists and he'd risen from the sludge again, wiping mud and dirty things off his face and tried again.

She let him swing at her until he was panting and blood trickled from his open wounds again and he had no choice but to stay down. He wheezed, sludge and mud and blood mixing at his collar, the front of his shirt ripped open, skinny ribs and starved stomach for all to see.

"Stay _away_ from me," He'd hissed, almost like those alley cats he'd tried to pet when he was still little enough to believe in good things and the promise that _Papa would come home, Kanzu-chan, don't you worry._

She'd stared at him again, longer than before, and something flickered in her eyes.

Then, like the completely infuriating, _cunt_ she was (and still was, he admitted to himself sometimes) she'd shrugged and threw something that was half-soggy and torn at his chest. "Keep it."

He watched her walk away, the rhythm to her steps making her hips sway in a way that a child's was _not supposed to_ , her braid dangling like a leash, shoulders pulled back and he imagined her face would be proud and fierce, eyes hard and vicious, ready to beat innocent children into the ground for sport again.

When he'd looked down his heart very nearly stopped in his chest.

 _Ten thousand ryo_.

Ten thousand ryo.

It sat on his chest, edges torn, banded together by rubber, mixing with the gutter gunk that had landed on his chest.

 _(It wasn't much, not like the money in the Overground, but in the Underground, ten thousand ryo lasted for seven months.)_

That night, he cried as he stuffed his face with his grandmother's warm, piping hot soba noodles and thought of the girl with the hard eyes and vicious fists.

And so, as he kept his hands tight on Emika and Tatsuro's shoulders, eyes piercing, teeth caving through his lip, he did what he would do a thousand times over.

"We're ready." He told the other shinobi, unable to lessen the loathing that lined his words.

The monster eyed him for a moment. "Very well."

He straightened, drawing on the last vestiges of his dignity, and prayed that Sakura would return to them.

 _If she didn't,_ he thought half-deliriously, _I will tear down the entire district to find her._

* * *

More background and some Kanzu p.o.v! Tell if me if you like it :)


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